


take the controls (i trust your judgment)

by pseudoanalytics



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Hiking Trip, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crash Landing, First Kiss, M/M, Medbay Antics, Minor Injuries, Post-Canon, Stargazing, X-Wing(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics
Summary: “I think you’re ready then,” Cassian says. His inflection says it’s a compliment, but the words themselves are more than a little foreboding.
“Ready— ready for— for what, exactly?” Bodhi chokes out, but Cassian is busy pressing buttons and flipping switches. “What should I be doing here?”
“Don’t get hit."
-----
or, Cassian takes Bodhi for a spin in an X-wing and manages to learn something on the fly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thank you rogue one for finally putting three fellow asians into space
> 
> also im a sucker for group dynamics, starfighters, and bodhi rook, and you'll notice this fic includes all three

The base lights are still set to Night Mode when Cassian wakes him up. Years of military training have Bodhi on his feet in an instant, already pulling on his Alliance-issued khakis before he has the presence of mind to actually speak.

“What? What is it? What’s going on?”

In the artificial darkness, Cassian hushes him and pulls at his upper arm. “Don’t bother putting all that on. You’re just going to have to take it off again. Follow me.”

Bodhi is pretty sure a connection breaks in his brain somewhere. Since they were cleared from medical after the near-miss that was the Scarif mission, there’s been something brewing between him and Cassian. He’s under no illusions that he’s the most observant guy in the galaxy, but he’s not incapable of noticing when someone might be liking him a little more than usual. If Bodhi wasn’t so certain that it’s the byproduct of convenience and shared trauma, he’d feel pretty damn honored to have earned the attentions of Captain Cassian Andor himself. It’s not even that he doesn’t share that mutual pull and general attraction. It merely feels a bit too risky, as any falling out that might damage their friendship could result in Bodhi’s expulsion from the Rebel Alliance, and if that were to ever happen, he’d have nowhere left to go.

The thought alone speeds Bodhi’s heart-rate, and he’s gotten distracted and is pulling too many layers on, which reminds him of the comment that started his whole mental spiral. Why the hell is Cassian planning to undress him soon at, a glance at the holoclock confirms, four am when the rest of the base is asleep? His tendency to “follow first, think later” bites him in the ass again, as Bodhi wordlessly drops the jacket to the floor, grabs his goggles from his nightstand, and joins Cassian in leaving the sleeping quarters. The captain practically jogs to the nearest lift, and Bodhi has to fight to keep up. He’s still fresh from physical therapy, and his stamina is not what it used to be. In the lift, Cassian starts stripping his own layers, and Bodhi knows he’s gaping in confusion, but he can’t help it. Cassian rips off his leather jacket and tugs his outer and under shirts up and over his head.

“Why are you just standing there?” he hisses, just barely loud enough to be heard past the clamor of metal. He toes off his military boots. “Start stripping.”

Bodhi isn’t sure if he’s vastly misread their whole relationship, but he’s just about to ask for a clear explanation, when the lift stops. Cassian grabs his clothing and takes off again, clad only in flannel leggings and socks. They’re on the same floor as the locker rooms, Bodhi notes, and sure enough, that’s exactly where they head. He shoves his own khakis and boots into a small locker, choosing to keep his flannels and an undershirt on. Deeming himself ready, he walks over to join Cassian, who tells him, matter-of-factly, “Okay. Get dressed.”

Bodhi almost implodes with confusion, anger, and stress, but Cassian slams open a taller metal locker and pulls out two bright orange flight suits. This isn’t right. Bodhi’s shaking his head, and preparing a protest. It never comes. The actual excitement of wearing rebel pilot fatigues overcomes the ethics, and he’s stepping into the legs eagerly. 

“Hold still,” Cassian demands, all business as usual. He snaps a life support box to the front of Bodhi’s vest, connecting it into place, before doing the same for himself. He sets their comlinks to matched frequencies, then reaches back into the locker to produce two helmets. Bodhi’s is chipped and dented with subdued paint calling it “Property of Cadet #2.” Cassian’s is the same, except he appears to have chosen Cadet #1 for himself.

“Are you ready, Bodhi?” he asks, cracking the first real smile of the evening, or rather, early morning. It makes Bodhi weak at the knees just being exposed to it at such close range. 

It’s distraction that allows him to say, “Of course. Lead the way,” before he can help it. They push into a different lift, and it zips upward so quickly, Bodhi’s knees almost buckle. He’s a bit jealous that Cassian is so physically capable of withstanding the increased pressure after sustaining that blaster injury to his leg. The lift stops and jars Bodhi sideways. Cassian lunges forward to grab him and stop him from toppling. “Thank you,” Bodhi rasps, but he’s waved off instantly.

“No need to whisper now,” Cassian calls, already leaving the lift and heading out. His voice echoes through the room he’s entered, and he walks to the nearest control panel and slaps his passkey against it. Bodhi cautiously slides out to look around, but the space is pitch-black. Then Cassian flips a switch and lights clatter on, starting far away and rapidly approaching where they stand. It’s the rebel flight deck, and ships of all makes and models line the lit walkway in the center. He can almost see and hear crews rushing around, fixing up fighters as the pilots board and prep for takeoff. He’s missed this.

However, Cassian clearly didn’t bring them here to ogle, because he’s half-dragging Bodhi towards a beat-up X-wing near a back wall.

“No. No no no no. What is this? Cassian? Stop. Wait. What are you—“ Bodhi fights the panic clawing up his throat as they approach. They’re dressed in pilot gear, with piloting helmets, heading for a starfighter in the dead of night. He can see exactly where this is going.

Up close, the X-wing is differently proportioned from the ones he’s grown used to seeing on Empire propaganda or zipping by outside his medbay window. Cassian hops up onto the side, one fist twisted securely in the neck of Bodhi’s flight suit. The top opens with a customary pressure-stabilizing hiss, and the pair clamber in.

“This is a tandem X-wing,” Cassian explains, gesturing to the two separate chairs, one behind the other. “It’s for teaching new recruits, while letting the flight instructor take control in an emergency if needed.” He gives Bodhi a pointed look. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Even as he gets shoved down into the front seat, Bodhi remains unconvinced. “Has anyone ever died in this ship?” he asks, fastening his restraints.

Cassian gives him a smile with too many teeth. “Of course not. But we used to have a lot more of these.” Bodhi’s jaw drops. “Helmet on!” Cassian calls. “We’re taking off!” 

Bodhi flails briefly and yanks his goggles off the top of his head, dropping them to the floor in a panic. He jams his helmet on and the display activates, carefully gauging the closing hatch. The starfighter roars to life and starts taxiing down the runway towards an opening gateway leading to outside. The comlink buzzes to signal its connection, and Bodhi immediately takes the opportunity to continue questioning Cassian. “Cassian! I’m being completely serious right now. What, in the name of the galaxy, are we doing?”

“Are you dense? We’re teaching you to fly an X-wing.”

“Don’t they have simulators for this?!”

“Simulators are for trainees. You’re already a pilot.”

“Yeah, okay, I hear you, but I piloted cargo ships, not starfighters!”

“And I fly transports, but I can handle this just fine. Get ready, once we’re on the runway I’m giving you the controls.”

Bodhi’s hands slap frantically at the instrument panel, looking for the steering, until Cassian reaches forward and directs him to the stick between his legs, and if there was ever a wrong time for inappropriate thoughts, it would be this moment, Bodhi decides. He grasps it just in time.

“It’s all you,” Cassian declares, and the fighter jerks as control passes to the front of the ship.

Bodhi will forever deny the screaming he makes as the X-wing pulls away from the platform.

“Okay,” Cassian instructs, “prepare to exit atmo.”

“We’re going off planet? How do you… Why is nothing labeled in here? This whole panel is so close. I’m not used to single person spacecraft.”

“That’s why I’m here. Shielding controls are top right.”

Bodhi’s pulse is incessantly pounding, and he instinctively moves to adjust his goggles on his forehead, but hits his helmet instead. The air outside is starting to form shimmering waves as they approach the atmosphere, and he finally finds the right switches to make their exit. The subtle vibration of entering space is calming and familiar, and Cassian’s shout of praise and subsequent clapping bring a shaky grin to Bodhi’s face. And worst of all, Cassian is right. Steering operates differently and the controls are in new positions, but flying an X-wing isn’t much unlike an Imperial cargo ship in the end. They do a few lazy loops around Yavin, passing a satellite in orbit, and Bodhi starts to grow comfortable. The tension leaves his back, and he reclines more in his seat. Cassian gives soft relays of information, playing the role of an astromech droid for the time being.

A sort of confidence permeates Bodhi, and he shifts around to look as Cassian, despite the comlink. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do, but never could in a cargo ship?”

“What?”

“Hold on tight.” It’s his turn to be vague and evasive, and Bodhi leans forward to press a little more speed into his trajectory. He whispers a soft please don’t let me die that can probably still be heard, then yanks on the stick. The X-wing slides into a perfect loop of barrel rolls, before Bodhi pulls out and moves straight into forward flips, relying on piloting intuition and his helmet’s display to maintain his bearings. When the ship levels out again, the adrenaline rush has him laughing a little hysterically, but Cassian is amused too, so it’s okay.

“I think you’re ready then,” Cassian says. His inflection says it’s a compliment, but the words themselves are more than a little foreboding.

“Ready— ready for— for what, exactly?” Bodhi chokes out, but Cassian is busy pressing buttons and flipping switches. “What should I be doing here?”

“Don’t get hit,” Cassian instructs, and as if on cue, the round, gray rebel satellite orbiting Yavin shoots a bright blue beam at the fighter. 

Bodhi automatically pulls up, dodging, but he’s almost immobilized by fear a heartbeat later.

“Bodhi, keep a level head. You’re a pilot. You fly ships. You can do this. Feel this and learn.” The ship shakes as Cassian regains the controls, and he glides directly into evasive maneuvers, avoiding the blasts that the persistent satellite emits. The ship moves out of range, and the ball breaks orbit, tailing them. Cassian dips and swoops and Bodhi’s stomach does it’s best to keep up. “Your turn. Don’t doubt yourself. Steer on first instinct.” Then the ship jumps, and Bodhi’s back in charge.

The blasts cycle around him as he employs the tricks he’s only just gotten to try out. He’s pretty sure he’s making unpleasant whining noises, but there’s no room in his brain to think about that for now. Two beams come terrifyingly close to him, but he tilts back at the last second and shoots up and away, barely evading them. Bodhi is a millisecond from laughing in victory when his display alerts him of a bolt making a direct trajectory for the left S-foil.

“Oh, fuck me.”

The bolt hits. The panel goes dead, and the interior lights go out. The X-wing rolls wildly as it’s left to the fickle judgement of the vacuum of space. Bodhi’s heart is in his throat, but then just as quickly power is restored, and he’s zipping away from the satellite as well as he can.

Cassian remains completely unruffled. “It fires short-term EMP blasts. Knocks you out of commission, but you won’t explode. I did say this was for training, you know.”

Bodhi doesn’t have the lung capacity to tell Cassian exactly how he feels right now, so instead he pours himself into continuing to dodge. Lethal or not, it’s still terrifying, and he’s not about to hesitate again.

It feels like days before Cassian calls off the orb, letting it return to peaceful cycles around the planet. Bodhi is holding tension in muscles he didn’t even know he had. “Take us in, Bodhi,” Cassian says kindly, and with an ease he lacked earlier that morning, the pilot steers back towards Yavin IV. In the time they’ve been up, the planet has turned enough to start casting sunlight onto the rebel base.

“You did an amazing job. I knew you’d pick it up quickly,” Cassian insists. “You’re a natural.”

Bodhi tries not to preen too much. He’d been hit more times then he could count, and every time the lights went out his heart had stopped too. It’d kept him on his toes and chased off any residual drowsiness. But in the end, his piloting skills had paid off, and nothing had gone wrong.

The disaster doesn’t occur until they’re reentering the atmosphere, something Bodhi’s done hundreds of times before. The bright red warning flashes in his helmet’s display, effectually blinding him.

“Uh oh,” Cassian grits out, leaning to gaze out the canopy. 

“‘Uh oh?’ I don’t like the sound of that.”

Bodhi turns to look too, and the sight, even through his display, terrifies him. Insulation has stripped from the side of his left S-foil, and it’s on fire, getting brighter and brighter as oxygen levels increase with their descent. 

“Cassian? Cassian, help. Help me. Cassian!” Bodhi’s not sure he can take much more of this. He’s near-frantic at the controls, trying to keep the fighter steady as his steering cuts out little by little. It’s occurring to him again that this X-wing is a death box. It’s not a cargo ship with escape pods and extinguishers; it’s a tiny metal container, and he’s strapped inside of it. He’s wondering if they just might actually make it back to the platform, but then the starfighter dips into a nosedive, spinning wildly due to its broken wing. “Cassian! Take the controls! Please, Cassian!” Bodhi’s shouting as loudly as he can. It’s his first flight in a rebel craft, especially this model. Cassian is far more qualified and they’re going to die; they survived Scarif but this is where they finally eat it, crashing in a basically-stolen training X-wing, all because Cassian isn’t taking over. He can’t even see past the flashing warnings in his helmet, just as loud and obnoxious as the fear in his head.

He wastes a valuable second throwing a glance back at his passenger, but Cassian has a pokerface sealed into place, holding on for support, but looking generally unconcerned. “Get us down, Bodhi. You’re the pilot.”

He’s the pilot. He’s the pilot. Bodhi remembers the rough, unforgiving stone of Saw Gerrera’s prison against his Imperial jumpsuit. He remembers his brain barely functioning, thought processes wispy and unformed. He was drifting through time and space, unable to hold on, until Cassian’s voice had cut through the haze, reminding him of who he was, giving him that leverage he needed to pull out of the discombobulation.

Bodhi isn’t sure of a lot of things, but he knows who he is, and right now, he’s the person who’s going to land them in a way that won’t prove fatal, unfamiliar spacecraft or not. He shifts his feet to secure himself better and kicks something in the process. His goggles. Bodhi sucks in a few deep breaths, then reaches down to grab them. He pulls off his helmet with the blinding, flashing warnings and snugly snaps his goggles over his eyes. The steering stick feels less foreign under his hands, and now that the rapidly approaching ground is visible he can actually focus. The dense jungle of Yavin IV leers up at him.

He tweaks and jerks the rear repulsers, stopping their corkscrew spin, before angling up the nose as best he can. Another shout tears its way through his throat as they make contact, smashing hard, bouncing, then halting, ship nose crumpled between a boulder and thick tree. Bodhi launches forward before his restraints yank him back heavily. The glass and metal in front of him crunches forward, billowing like cloth in the wind and stopping just shy of his legs and face.

They’re down. He’s alive.

“Cassian?” Bodhi struggles to turn around, but his straps are too tight, and while his legs weren’t crushed, he can’t slide them out on his own with the angle he’s at. Tan hands reach from behind, pulling at the emergency release to unfasten his belts.

“We have to go. When that fire hits the engine, this whole ship is going to blow.”

Bodhi wonders if his body has any adrenaline left to pump. He’s exhausted, but the terror of yet again exploding in a spacecraft keeps him moving. This time, he’s certain, he won’t be so lucky.

Cassian maneuvers impressively well in the cramped space, slinging a leg over Bodhi’s lap to face him. He’s pulling repeatedly at the restraints, but they aren’t releasing. With a muffled curse, he tugs the right leg of his jumpsuit up and slides a knife from his boot. Cassian hacks wildly through the belts as Bodhi stares with increasing anxiety at the flames melting insulation and traveling towards the cockpit. Suddenly Cassian leans in close, practically embracing him in his seat as the straps fall open. His face looms closer and closer, and Bodhi’s almost distracted even from his imminent death by the open forehead wound and split lip the other man has, but then Cassian pulls a lever low on the chair, and it reclines, snapping flat. He hooks arms under each of Bodhi’s armpits and drags him backwards out of the mangled remains of the dashboard. He leaves him crumpled in the rear, before kicking out the last bits of the canopy.

“Come on!” Cassian calls, and Bodhi finds strength enough to crawl forward and out. An arm slings around his shoulder, and they sprint away from the wreckage as quickly as they can. The crackling flames are barely audible when the X-wing explodes. The trees shake and bend, and the blast knocks them off their feet. They don’t get up, opting to lay and pant from exertion and terror.

Cassian starts to chuckle first, groping out a hand until he finds Bodhi’s, squeezing with camaraderie. “That— that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he laughs.

Bodhi scoffs. “Oh, it wasn’t? So sorry, I quite thought our second near-death experience was intentional.”

“We weren’t supposed to hit that rock.”

“The rock? How about the crash at all! Did you— did you know we were going to ignite on reentry? Is that why you didn’t take the controls?”

Cassian gives him an odd look. “No. Of course not. Why would I intentionally endanger us?”

“Then why wouldn’t you take over?” He edging back into hysteria, he knows, but he can’t help it at this point.

“You had it under control. I trusted you.” There’s a beat in which the realization that Cassian genuinely believed Bodhi could safely bring them down really sinks in. “Come on. Let’s go. It’s a long walk back to base, and no one knows we’re out here.” He stands up, dusting off his orange suit, now smeared with ash and dirt. A hand is extended to Bodhi, and he takes it without hesitation.

Bodhi grunts as he gets to his feet. His legs are bruised, and he’s fairly certain he’s sprained something. Cassian notices his sway and moves to steady him. And so it’s together, arms around one another that they start limping through the forest towards the base.

It’s almost an hour before Bodhi can’t keep moving and sags to his knees.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you okay?” Cassian tries to hold him up, but Bodhi lets himself go limp to discourage him.

“I need a break,” he croaks from his position on the ground, gazing up at a concerned Cassian and tall, green trees. “Legs are tired.”

There’s a thunk next to him as Cassian sits hard, lying back to join him on the soft earth. It’s only early morning, and the humidity is already rising, but the jungle floor is still pleasantly cool.

“Why did you bring me out here?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen. I thought we were just going to go for a quick fly. I never intended for—”

“No, I uh, I meant the flight to begin with. Why did you take me out? Flying. Why did you take me flying.”

“I figured you would be feeling just as cooped up as I was. I go, eh, I go a little stir-crazy when I’m not allowed off base for a while. And I was just thinking, being a fellow pilot and all, you might relate.”

“Oh.”

“And you’ve never flown an Alliance spacecraft before, so if you wanted to get back into the game, you might want to know how to work them. That way you can get cleared to fly again.”

“Then, why a— why a starfighter? Why not something easier, like a cargo ship?”

Cassian shuffled so he could look Bodhi in the eye from their places on the dirt. “I’m a transport pilot, but I’m also part of the ground troops. Both positions require aerial backup from X-wings. And I’d feel a lot safer if I know we have our best flyers covering me. It’s selfish, I know.”

The air feels heavy with more than just humidity, and Bodhi knows his eyes are wide right now, probably comically so. It’s the perfect time to break the mood. “Thank you, Cassian. We should— we should keep moving. I’m ready to walk again.” He’s really not, but it has to happen. 

As it grows closer to Yavin’s midday, the heat grows past discomfort and straight into the territory of downright misery. Bodhi unzips his flight suit to his waist, but he’s still in an undershirt, unlike Cassian, who remains fully clothed despite the sweat pouring off his face. Bodhi’s hair hangs in wet, limp strands, curling at his ears and nape. He pulls out his hair tie and calls to Cassian to stop for a moment. He takes the chance to sit on a flat stone, resting his aching legs. He drags off his goggles and fiddles with them, then sets them beside him. Leaning forward to drop his head between his knees, Bodhi pulls his hair into a high bun in an attempt to get it off his neck. Loose tendrils still hang down when he sits back up, but it grants him a little more ventilation. Cassian’s hair isn’t doing much better, what with his stringy bangs flopping into his eyes.

“Here. Cassian.” Bodhi holds out his goggles, and the captain looks confused, so he stands and pushes back Cassian’s hair, clearing his face, and secures it with his goggles, like a makeshift headband. 

“Thanks.”

Bodhi just nods. They keep walking, and finally Cassian breaks, unzipping his own suit to his waist. It would take immense strength to not look, and Bodhi’s never claimed to be strong, so if he sneaks a few glances, that’s his own prerogative. 

“Are we almost there?” Bodhi asks a while later, and Cassian sighs, wiping sweat from his face with a dangling sleeve. 

“I don’t know. I feel like we should have reached it by now.”

Bodhi stops walking. His leg muscles are on fire, and he needs to sit again. “You don’t think we—“ He trails off nervously.

“Think we passed it? I don’t know. I only had that glimpse of our position right before we hit the ground.”

“We’re lost then. We’re lost in the jungle, and, and, no one knows we’re even out here…” He should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep, Bodhi decides. He never should have followed Cassian.

He’s not fooling himself. If given a second chance, he still would have followed. He feels like that’s all he’s ever been good at, following. Sure he defected, but with Galen’s guidance. Then he was rescued and became part of their little Rogue One group, and ever since then he’s been trailing after them. He can’t even think of what he has to offer, besides his insider knowledge of the Empire. He has no unique skills, what with Cassian also being a pilot and with K-2SO as a military strategist. He can hardly wield a blaster, and he already knows his hand-to-hand is shitty at best.

If he dies out here in the jungle, the only way he’ll be remembered is as a footnote in the battle of Scarif and in the announcement of Captain Cassian Andor’s passing.

“Bodhi!” A hand cracks across his face and pulls him back into himself. At some point he’s collapsed into a slump against Cassian, fighting for air over his hyperventilation.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he pants, throwing arms around Cassian’s neck, trying to center himself again. There’s a hand rubbing circles into his back, and it helps. It actually helps ground him. At a certain point, he realizes Cassian is still shirtless, and he feels uncomfortable enough to let go and sit back. They stand again, Bodhi leaning more of his weight on Cassian, and they keep stumbling forward.

Noon peaks and passes, and the heat just ramps up. Dehydration has given both of them headaches, and blisters are forming on Bodhi’s heels from boots not designed for hiking. He doesn’t know really what happens, but one second he’s walking, completely miserable, and the next he’s facedown in the dirt, Cassian shouting through the ringing in his ears.

Bodhi won’t even allow himself to be pulled into a seated position. He’s exhausted, and the pain radiating through his legs has reached the point of immobilization.

“Okay, Bodhi, we can, we can take a break.”

He can’t even respond for a moment; his throat is so dry.

“Shit, you aren’t even sweating anymore. That’s not good. We need to find water…”

Bodhi forces himself to swallow. He could die here. Lost in this jungle. He’s so tired of it. So tired of being afraid of death, of anything. In the scheme of things, the rebel chain of command doesn’t seem as important. He’s looking up at Cassian with the edges of his vision dimming. “Cassian…” The other bends low to put an ear closer to Bodhi’s mouth. “If I asked you to kiss me, what would you say?”

The reaction isn’t as positive as he expected. Cassian stiffens and pulls away, though he still cradles Bodhi close. “I would have to decline. That’s not proper conduct, especially right now. We’re in the middle of a war, Bodhi. I have to— I have to stay concentrated on the Alliance. No unnecessary distractions.”

The dryness in his mouth seems to get worse. “Right. Right, I uh, I don’t know what I was thinking. That was quite out of line, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine. You’re dehydrated. And injured. And exhausted.”

Bodhi is saved from additional embarrassment by a twig snapping nearby.

“What was that?”

Cassian gingerly lays him down, rising into a crouch and drawing his knife again. “I’m not sure. It could be any number of things. There’s a lot of creatures in this jungle. It could be a howler—”

“A what?” 

The cracking grows closer, and Cassian stands, zipping up his flight suit for one more small layer of protection. A dark shadow begins to approach from particularly dense vegetation. He tightens his grip on his weapon and moves to stand between it and Bodhi. 

During their time in the medbay, Jyn had talked to Cassian a lot. She’d told him all about her survival strategy. “You have to attack first. The one who makes the first move will almost always win,” she’d said. He decides to employ that philosophy now.

It doesn’t work.

Cassian lunges with his knife, but the shadow is faster, knocking the weapon away where it lodges firmly into the trunk of a tree, then incapacitating him with well placed blows to his solar plexus and the back of his knees. 

He lands with a groan on the ground, his face rebounding off the dirt.

Chirrut steps out from the darkness, eyebrows raised almost mockingly. He taps Cassian’s prone form exploratorily with his staff. 

“Captain Andor? Oh. Oh, I am so sorry. Honest mistake. Blind, you know?”

Baze stomps out as well, armed with a rebel blaster that looks tiny compared to his old weaponry.

“He calls it ‘blindness.’ I call it ‘selective vision.’”

Cassian collects himself, struggling to his feet and rubbing his sore cheek. “How did you find us?”

Baze jerks his chin towards Chirrut, who merely frowns and points his staff behind Cassian. “It’s unimportant. Right now, he is not doing so well. We have to get him back to base.”

Cassian’s head whips back to Bodhi. “He’s dehydrated. And possibly concussed.”

“‘Mm, not concussed,” Bodhi slurs.

Chirrut shakes his head. “I’m impressed he’s made it this far from the crash site. His legs must be in excruciating pain by now.” He turns and walks off into the underbrush.

Cassian locks confused eyes with Baze as the latter drops his small blaster into the captain’s hands. Baze scoops Bodhi up and starts to follow Chirrut.

“Baze, I never said… how did he…” There’s no response, not that he really thought he’d get one. Cassian supposes he’s been around Baze and Chirrut long enough to know not to expect direct answers to his questions. He trails the trio ahead of him until they reach a speeder parked in a small clearing. 

Baze drapes Bodhi in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat, and Chirrut squats beside him, a hand on Baze’s shoulder for balance. Cassian scrambles in next to Bodhi and stares down at his face, eyes shut and brow creased. He’d asked to kiss him. Him. Cassian knows he’s attractive. He’s used his appearance to his advantage on more than one mission in the past. The uncertainty comes more from the implications of fraternizing in the hierarchy of the Alliance and also in judging Bodhi’s sincerity, considering his current physical condition. Sure, it’s just a kiss, but it obviously means more than that to Bodhi, and kissing him with no intention of pursuing anything further feels a little rude. Cassian considers himself married to his work anyway. He was right to say no. He was.

Baze starts up the speeder, and they take off. The force of the sudden acceleration slides Bodhi’s body and knocks Cassian backward, but Chirrut stays upright, supported on his partner’s shoulder. He points in the direction the exhausted pair had been walking from, and Baze adjusts the steering appropriately.

They’ve been driving for a few minutes when Cassian has to ask, “Where’s Jyn?”

“She’s leading a search party on the opposite part of the continent,” answers Chirrut.

“You didn’t all head for the crash site?”

“Of course not. We had no idea there’d even been a crash site to head to.”

“But you knew Bodhi had walked a long way—”

Baze interrupts. “He was trying to be mysterious. We stumbled onto the wreckage by chance and tracked you from there.”

“There’s no such thing as chance. The Force led us to you.”

Baze scoffs and gives up. In the lull in conversation, Bodhi moans, and Cassian is distracted for the rest of the ride back.

Upon arrival, medbay officials rush Bodhi and Cassian in for treatment. They immediately start dispensing fluids via IV, and a Twi’lek nurse pulls off the goggles and begins to bandage Cassian’s forehead. She unzips his jumpsuit and clinically examines his torso, applying a bacta patch to the nasty bruise Chirrut had left on his abdomen. Bodhi gets wheeled off to have his legs immersed in an actual bacta tank, leaving Cassian alone as Jyn and K-2SO walk in.

She approaches his bed and slaps him, hard, right on the cheek he’d face-planted on. He curses loudly, and she hauls off and smacks the other side too.

K-2 looks down at him. “What you did was stupid and bound to result in disaster. If you had brought me with you instead of tromping off in the middle of the night alone, I would have advised strongly against the whole endeavor.”

“For once I agree with Circuits, here,” Jyn frowns. “What were you thinking?”

“We weren’t supposed to crash. I was just taking Bodhi out to practice his Alliance piloting skills.”

“Incredible,” K-2 deadpans. “You could think of no better ways to express your affection?”

“My ‘affection’ had nothing to do with it—” Cassian starts, but Jyn interrupts.

“You have feelings for Bodhi?”

He squares his jaw. Cassian has always been a practical man, very matter-a-fact, and he doesn’t plan to stop now. “Perhaps. Perhaps, I do. But my feelings for him are unimportant in the face of the bigger picture: the Alliance and our fight against the Empire, which I will remind you, is still continuing as we speak.”

A new voice joins the discussion as Mon Mothma steps in from the doorway. “And how exactly do we differentiate ourselves from the heartless Empire, if we leave no room for human connection, even now, in the center of conflict?”

“With all due respect,” Cassian continues, after collecting himself from the shock, “there are many other ways we are unlike the Empire.”

“Be that as it may, I sense a certain amount of hesitation concerning your position in the Alliance, Captain.”

He nods jerkily, caught.

“Rest assured the Council will not look ill upon you for pursuing a soldier of lower rank. We are a compassionate movement, not a dictatorial one.”

Jyn looks back at Cassian. “You haven’t told Bodhi, because he isn’t a captain like you?”

“Are we all forgetting that whether or not he makes a move, it’s only seventy-eight percent likely that the Imperial pilot will even accept his advances?” K-2 joins in.

“Are you dense?” snaps Jyn. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Cassian since we were released from the medbay.”

“And look where that’s landed them now.”

“Enough,” sighs Mon Mothma. “I came to check on both of your conditions, not pick a fight or pry into your personal affairs.” She takes a moment to meet his eyes. “I pray the Force heals you quickly, and I expect wiser decisions to be made in the future, Captain Andor. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Senator.”

“Excellent. Good day, Captain Andor. Lieutenant Erso.” She leaves, her security entourage in tow.

Cassian sighs and leans back in his bed, shutting his eyes.

“I’d like to readjust my estimate to a seventy-four percent chance of successful advances,” K-2SO chimes.

Cassian’s head is still swimming with statistics and probabilities when nurses come in to roll Bodhi’s cot back into the room. He’s fast asleep, but the color has returned to his face, and he looks healthier. The Twi’lek kicks Jyn and K-2 out so they won’t disturb either of her patients, and Cassian is finally able to get some rest of his own.

He wakes from a light sleep to the sound of Bodhi’s voice. He whispering conversationally with Chirrut, perched on Baze’s lap in a chair by the bed. Bodhi must crack a joke, because Chirrut throws back his head in a silent laugh. There’s a grunt of pain from Baze, who informs his partner that he’s not as light as he thinks he is. Bodhi turns away to snicker and meets eyes with Cassian.

Cassian wasn’t even aware he’d been staring, but he is aware of the dopey grin uncharacteristically draped on his face.

Bodhi matches it almost instantaneously. “Cassian! Thank you so much. Sorry for basically turning into dead weight out there.”

“Not a problem. You did fine. It was my fault we ended up out there in the first place.”

Baze pushes Chirrut off his lap, then extends a hand with a grunt. Chirrut gropes and finds it, then effortlessly pulls Baze up to his feet, despite his size. He stoops down and picks up his staff from the floor. “We’ll be on our way. Good talk, Bodhi. Heal quickly, friends.” Chirrut walks out whistling, Baze following dutifully.

Silence descends upon the room, and Bodhi reaches up to his forehead but aborts when he remembers his goggles aren’t there. Cassian recognizes the action and turns to his bedside table where the nurse had left them. Ignoring Bodhi’s noises of protest, he hops out of bed, dragging his IV stand with him to the other cot. He sits down on the edge, and Bodhi shuffles to the side to give him more room.

Cassian vividly recalls his conversation with Mon Mothma, Jyn, and K-2SO, wondering if this counted as a wiser decision. He steels himself as if he’s going into battle, and he carefully reaches out to brush Bodhi’s hair from his face. A medbay official must have pulled it out of its band, because it splays across the pillow and almost successfully distracts him. But Bodhi’s wide, startled eyes call him back, and Cassian gently sets the goggles on Bodhi’s forehead before easing the strap over his hair. He hasn’t stopped gaping at him, and Cassian’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable himself. He clears his throat. “Bodhi, about what you asked me right before Chirrut and Baze—”

“Augh, no, stop stop stop. Please don’t remind me.”

Cassian winces. “I’m not saying—”

“I put you in an awkward position, and I’m sorry. Please don’t mention it again. I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry. Please just don’t.”

“I will drop it if you answer one question.”

Bodhi peeks out from between his fingers where he’s covered his face in humiliation. “Depends on the question.”

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“Did you mean it, or was it a, eh, spur-of-the-moment sort of thing. You were injured.”

Bodhi avoids eye contact, then seems to gather himself again. “It was intentional. I misread the situation, but it was intentional.”

Cassian tries to pretend his hands aren’t fidgeting and picking at his flight suit. “It was an unusual situation, yes. But, the answer might have changed now that we’re in a new one.”

The whole cot jerks when Bodhi’s spine stiffens. He looks up, then glances around the room as if searching for a joke or prank. Cassian keeps his face straight and open to the best of his ability. “Bodhi, would you like to ask again?”

“I— Actually— Actually I think, I’d like it if you’d ask me.”

Cassian is shocked, but Bodhi has his brave face on, so he finds he’s weak to the request. He looks him dead in the eye as he speaks, “Bodhi… can I… can I kiss you?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, that’d be, good. Yes, good. Yes, you may. Oh god, please do it fast so I’ll shut up—”

Cassian leans in, a little awkwardly since Bodhi is still laying down, but it turns out to be simpler than he thought it would be, in more ways than one. They lightly kiss until Cassian pulls away to push Bodhi’s goggles back up and off, mainly to avoid hitting his own forehead against them. The movement has the added bonus of being a perfect transition for sliding hands into Bodhi’s hair. It’s still dirty and sweaty, but Cassian knows he isn’t the cleanest right now either, so he opts to ignore it. Bodhi seems to like fingers carding through his hair anyway, because he smiles into the kiss, and that makes it worth it.

In the following days, Cassian’s internal monologue tries its damnedest to ruin everything for him. Maybe it’s pessimism, but he waits anxiously for the moment that what he has with Bodhi will fall apart. He waits for the universe to punish him for taking the one spark of happiness he can. Cassian’s not conscious-less. He knows what he’s done in the name of the Rebellion. He can’t deserve Bodhi.

Maybe that’s why it startles him when Bodhi expresses a similar sentiment, picking at imaginary lint on his fatigues as they sit on an external walkway, staring at the stars.

“You don’t think you deserve me?” laughs Cassian in disbelief.

“I was an Imperial pilot,” Bodhi retorts, with just as much emphasis. “I killed people. Your people.”

“You defected!”

“After I’d brought countless amounts of weaponry to Imperial-occupied territory, exported shiploads of sacred crystals from my own home planet, and carried thousands of Stormtroopers into active war zones.”

Cassian just scoffs. “Well, maybe in times like these, none of us can be perfect.”

“Maybe not.”

They’re quiet for a bit, watching the night sky. Bodhi wonders silently if the twinkling light overhead is the training satellite.

Cassian readjusts his position, leaning into Bodhi a little more. After a moment he drops his head to his shoulder, brushing long strands of hair out of the way first.

Bodhi clears his throat lightly. “I’ve been thinking. And I think— I think I’d like to pilot an A-wing.”

“Mm. Solid choice. Excellent steering. Good cover.”

“They have escape vessels.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t think I feel safe very often.”

“Well, we are in a war—”

“No. I don’t know… Not like that. It’s an emotional and mental kind of safe. And I guess, I’m just hoping, that if I can feel physically safe, maybe that’s the first step to everything else.”

Cassian just nods, not completely relating, yet understanding at the same time.

“Like, you, Cassian. You’re safe. I consider you a very safe person.”

“But I’m—”

Bodhi shushes him. “I don’t care. That’s my opinion. You feel safe to me.”

“Okay,” says Cassian. He slides so he can lay down, his head in Bodhi’s lap. Lithe fingers ease into his hair for once. Bodhi still looks up at the sky.

The bay door opens suddenly, and Jyn walks out and winces when she sees them. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone else would be out here. I can find a different walkway.”

“No, no. Come sit down,” Bodhi invites. Cassian tries to get up, but a hand knocks his head back into Bodhi’s lap, and he goes without further complaint.

Jyn does sit down but not against the wall with them but at the edge. She dangles her legs off the side and lays her arms and head on the bar of the railing.

It’s not long before the door opens again, and Chirrut and Baze step onto the walkway. “I told you they’d be here,” Chirrut smiles, sitting down against the wall and gesturing for Baze to join him. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

Jyn snorts and kicks her legs. “How do you know? You can’t even see the stars.”

“Ah, yes, but the stars aren’t the only lovely things out tonight.”

A look of surprise crosses Jyn’s face as she really takes in the four people sitting behind her. “I guess you’re right,” she whispers, turning back to the sky again.

They all look out into the night, even Chirrut. At some point Baze leans over and kisses him, gliding a reverent hand across his partner’s cheek, as if they’re the only ones outside, in complete privacy, Cassian thinks. He loses his train of thought when Bodhi bends down to do the same. He reaches a hand up to tangle in his hair and revels in the happy sigh Bodhi releases.

This moment is only fleeting. They all know that. Tomorrow the war will continue. Tomorrow one or all of them might die. But for now they’re here, watching the stars. And maybe, just maybe they all deserve some sort of happiness after all.

**Author's Note:**

> @lucasfilm: bring them back, and let them kiss
> 
> OKAY SO peachiepea on twitter drew [cassian and bodhi cuddling and looking at the stars](https://twitter.com/peachiepea/status/818586640289402881) and you should all go see it and retweet/like it


End file.
